


Trials

by Redrose1024



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Fluff, Gay Lovers, Jazz and prowl, M/M, Princes, Romance, Royalty, Sexual Interfacing, interfacing, royal au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-14 22:59:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 18,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11218008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redrose1024/pseuds/Redrose1024
Summary: Jazz is the Prince of Iacon. When he comes of age, four suitors are presented before him. According to Cybertronian tradition, it is mandatory for the suitors to prove their worth in battle.Jazz tries to make it look like he has no preferences, but a certain Praxian catches his optic.





	1. Introduction to the Suitors

Jazz was standing at the window. He gazed down at the mechs and femmes who had arrived to take his servo. All were either fabulously wealthy or royal.

Accompanying the suitors were their sires, along with a band of their best knights and trusted servants. The Kings and their creations dressed in the finest metals. They had been painted in the colors of their homeland, with jewelry draping down their elegant frames.

Jazz watched as they silently boasted themselves to their competitors. The young suitors would strut or pose threateningly to their peers. Sometimes even exchanging harsh whispers. Jazz found it rather amusing. 

He wasn't nervous for this, not like everyone else was. He'd known this day would come for quite some time now, and it's not like he had to choose a mate. To a certain extent, he had control over his fate. He could say no to the victor, but only if he had a viable reason.

The servants came to collect him and led him to the throne room. He sat to the right of his creators. In four lines, stood the Kings, their creations, and their entourage. One by one, the leaders with their creations, marched into the throne room to present their offspring.

“Your Majesty, I present to you my eldest son.” the King of Tyger Pax announced. 

A tall blue mech took a step forward with a stoic smile. He onlined his optics and stared at Jazz. His square face and strong features pointed directly at Jazz. The young Prince did everything in his power to not stare at his barreling chassis and hulking arms. 

“He’s trained with the greatest of warriors, defeated the greatest of foes.” All while the King was talking, the Prince never took his optics off Jazz. 

Jazz remained still as the King finished. He tilted his helm at an angle, enough so it didn’t look like he was watching the Prince. But in reality, his optics were glued to him. 

“Your Radiancy,” the King of Kaon stepped forward. “I give you the Princess of Kaon.”

Jazz found himself enthralled by her beauty. She took a few large steps forward, overtaking her sire and posing heroically. A dashing smile graced her face plates, servos were laid flatly on her hips. Her green paint job made it all the more difficult to look away.

“While her beauty is entrancing, her loyalty is far superior. When kidnapped by terrorists, she remained calm and refused to give up any information. She will truly be a worthy adversary to you and your son.”

Jazz noticed his sire nod in approval. Jazz had decided long ago, he’d put on a neutral appearance. It wouldn’t be fair if he made his preferences known. 

It was the King of Crystal City’s turn now. “My only son,” he started in a soft voice. “is a gifted mech. He’s been taught by Omega Supreme himself in the art of science. In the past, he has been regarded as one of the most brilliant minds on Cybertron. I believe that he will be a great adversary to you.”

Jazz overlooked the scrawny mech with over polished armor standing tall. He had an oval face followed by a long neck and a stickly frame.

A good mind was great and all, but Jazz could sense his arrogance. But then again, underneath that exterior, there may be someone he could love.

“Your Highness.” a commanding voice said. “My son, the Prince of Praxus.” 

The King sidestepped and held out his servo. From the dark shadow that his sire cast, came a black and white mech. He stood next to his sire, sword in servo, pedes planted firmly against the marble. The tip of his sword touched the ground, causing a light tap to reverberate through the throne room. He tilted his helm to the side, giving Jazz a good view of his profile. 

He was definitely Praxian. His large doorwings were hiked up his back to display his pride. His shiny red chevron stood atop his helm.

“A mech of brilliance and resilience.” the King continued. “He had proved to be a great war strategist and someday a great king.”

The King of Iacon rose from his seat. The already silent room became even more hushed as his next words were awaited. 

“I see great opportunities presented before me,” he said. “Tomorrow will be the beginning of the trials. We will see which of the suitors is the most worthy through a battle of strength and wits. At the end of the decacycle, my mate and I will evaluate the suitors. Until then, you are all dismissed. My servants will show you to your quarters.”

The servants standing at the walls rushed to the Lords and took them to their quarters. Jazz sat and waited for everyone to clear out. It would lessen the chances of any of the suitors cornering him to talk to him. 

He wanted this to be as fair as possible. So that meant no late night chats, no love letters, no gifts. In the event that he was presented with a situation, he would diffuse it as quickly as possible.


	2. Victor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, we see the first trial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not very good at writing action...

Jazz clutches the cloth drapes. He could hear the crowd’s anxious chatter as they waited for his appearance. 

Jazz was draped in the finest jewelry. Small gems and crystals were wrapped in delicate metals. They were gifts that the kingdoms had sent in hopes of being invited to Iacon. 

Jazz understood that is was tradition, but he still couldn’t wrap his mind around why the tradition was here. He wasn’t going to rebel against it, that was for sure. Yet, he still yearned to know more about the suitors. Instead of watching them fight, he wanted to watch them as they performed everyday tasks. Why get to know someone when they’re at their worst? He didn’t even know their names, he referred to them as the place they hailed from. 

He yanked open the drapes, revealing himself. To his right were the suitors. To his left were his creators. There was a short round of cheers before he silenced it by raising his servo. 

Now standing at the edge of the balcony, he began to speak. “My trusted servants and citizens, we are gathered here today to witness Cybertron’s greatest duel in front of us. By the end of this decacycle, my spark will be rewarded to the most promising mech or femme.” he turned to the suitors. “I wish you all the best of luck.”

The suitors were escorted to the arena. The citizens of Iacon began to pour into the gates. Jazz and his creators were taken to a special booth. It was directly above the entrance, a perfect view point. 

The arena was massive. It was in the shape of a circle with entrances on all sides. In the middle was the battlefield. Wrapping around it, was the stadium seating. Row after row was filled with spectators, all clapping and cheering. 

Jazz took his seat next to his creators and watched the four Royals emerge. The Princess of Kaon took to the center and waved at the cheering spectators. The Prince of Tyger Pax wasn’t too far behind her, already calling out to the audience. The Prince of Crystal City and the Prince of Praxus weren’t as eager. The Prince of Crystal City turned up his nose cone and walked in a dignified manner. The Prince of Praxus, however, didn’t appear to be trying to show off or look like something he wasn’t. He merely held his servos and marched calmly to the center. While Jazz was pleased with it, the crown wasn’t They paid him no heed, instead focusing on the two in the middle. 

The four of them were positioned in a line. Next to each of their marks was a sword. 

For the first trial, they’d be sword fighting. Two contestants would duel, followed by the other two. Then the victors would fight to dictate the winner. 

“For our first match, we shall have The Prince of Crystal City and The Princess of Kaon. Whoever draws energon first will be crowned the victor.” the King announced. 

There was a round of applause as they picked up their sword. The two put on bold faces and walked into the circle painted on the ground. They stood parallel from each other, waiting for the signal to begin.

The King stood up again, “Let the games begin!” he cried. 

The crowd cheered and the suitors lunged. The Princess was starting off strong. She leaped from her spot towards the Prince. Their swords clashed together. The Prince stepped back and regained himself. The Princess, however, was sporadic and persistent.

Jazz shook his helm at the Prince’s sorry display. While The Princess used her entire arm to control the sword, he was relying too heavily on his wrists. 

She pushed towards him again. He blocked her with his sword, but she quickly countered. The Princess spun around, blade held at an angle that made it jut out from her frame.   
The Prince was a tad too close to her and made contact with the tip of the blade. He fell onto his back and clutched his middle, face plates contorted in pain. Pink energon seeped through his digits, signaling the Princess’ victory. 

The crowd roared. The Princess of Kaon stood proudly over him and basked in the glory. 

“The Princess of Kaon is the victor!” The King announced. 

Jazz wasn’t disappointed or pleased with the outcome. He was true to his promise and remained indifferent to all the competitors. 

Jazz waited patiently for the next fight to start. The medics came out to collect The Prince. Servants escorted The Princess to a private booth where she could watch the battle. 

The Prince of Tyger Pax and the Prince of Praxus stood on opposite ends of the arena. The Praxian stood detached with his sword pointing downward. The larger mech was already in his battle stance. 

A buzzer sounded and the two Princes. The black and white mech sidestepped him and jumped a few feet away from him. He raised his sword, waiting for him to charge again. The tall blue mech slashed his blade towards his opponent. The Prince of Praxus dodged it. 

The Prince of Tyger Pax was beginning to grow frustrated. He wanted to put on a good show and this Praxian was denying him of it.

“Stay still!” he roared. 

The Praxian mech dodged his attack again by shifting his frame to the left. The mech launching the attack put so much energy into it, he ended up crashing into the ground. The Prince, taking advantage of the opportunity, forced him into a standing position by kneeing him in the abdomen. The Prince of Tyger Pax growled and lunged at him. Once he was at optic level, the Praxian took his sword and sliced him across the chassis. 

The Prince flew backward, clutching his wound. The crowd cheered once more as he hit the ground. The Praxian stood victorious over his opponent. He watched at the medics collected him and dragged him off to the med bay. 

“For the next fight,” The King began. “we shall see the Princess of Kaon and the Prince of Praxus duel.”

The medics came to the Prince and scanned him while the Princess got ready for the fight. He was given a new sword as well. 

The Princess met him in the ring. As they waited for the buzzer to sound, the femme had her optics locked onto the Prince. He knew she was trying to intimidate him. But that wasn’t going to work. He knew she was nervous. After seeing the tricky display he had just put on, she had every right to be. 

The buzzer blared through the ring. Almost immediately, the Princess attacked. The Prince decided it’d be better if he chose a new strategy. So, he attacked too. 

Their swords met with a clang. They waved the blades around and clashed them together. Her optics narrowed as she thrust her sword forward. The mech dodged it by flipping over her helm. The Princess was discombobulated by his sudden agility. He preyed on her this and kicked her pedes. She fell to the ground, sword clattering to the ground in the process. 

The Praxian smirked. Trying to take advantage, he loomed over her. His sword was held high above her chassis. In a panic, she shifted all her weight to her servos placed firmly on the ground. The femme flung her pedes in the air and kicked him in the abdomen. 

He stumbled backwards and collapsed on his back. His doorwings flared at the sudden pain. Suddenly, the Princess was standing over him. She took the tip and placed it on his chassis. Ever so carefully, she pressed down until a bead of energon formed. The crowd was in stunned silence, so sure the Praxian would’ve won. Then, with one sudden movement, she slashed downward. 

The Prince grunted in pain. The Princess was pulled away by the medics, already trying to treat him. 

The femme stood in the middle of the arena, basking in the glory. The Prince sat up and watched her blow kisses to the audience. 

Soon, she was up on the balcony, receiving her victory. The King gave a short speech. The other three suitors watched in a silent malice. 

Jazz stood off to the side with a small smile. He was glad she won, she deserved it. 

Before they went inside, the Princess stopped the Prince of Iacon. She bowed respectfully to him and grasped his servo. Gently, she raised it to her lip plates and planted a small kiss on it. 

Little did they know, through the crowd a certain Praxian saw the ordeal.


	3. Actions Speak Louder Than Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So in this one, we see the suitors interacting and half of the second trial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I didn't make it clear that there would be more than one trial because a ton of people were sad that Prowl "lost". Fear not, there's still a chance.

The four suitors were all in the same wing. There was a lounge area and down the hall was their quarters

The lounge area had several different sofas arranged in a circle. In the middle was a table. The table was littered with empty energon cubes. The Princess in particular had drunk some high grade in celebration of her victory. 

It was an odd arrangement, someone was bound to be murdered while recharging. They supposed it was to build anger that they could later relieve on the battlefield.

After all, the citizens of Iacon saw it as one big show. The first person to have two wins would be crowned the victor. With every win, the competition got more and more intense. 

At the moment all four of them were sitting in the lounge area. It was awkward, yes. But none of them wanted to give in and retire to their quarters. They saw it as an admission to defeat.

Two of the mechs were still sore from the fight, physically and emotionally. The other one, however, was sitting calmly and drinking his energon. The Princess was still happy from her earlier win. She’d be damned if the other mechs didn’t know about it.

“I’d recommend you all watch out,” she boasted. “Because you’re looking at the future Queen of Iacon. Don’t you think, Tyger Pax?”

The Prince of Praxus thought it was odd that she referred to everyone as the city-state they hailed from. But after some thought, he supposed it wasn’t that big of a deal.

The Prince of Tyger Pax rolled his optics. “Oh please, if only your beauty was as abundant as your arrogance.”

The Prince of Crystal City laughed from the corner he was sitting in, “I think we all know that intellect conquers all.”

The Princess turned her attention to the quiet black and white mech. “Well, what do you think Praxian? Beauty or intellect?”

Prowl looked up momentarily to meet her optics. “Why do you ask?”

“It isn’t very polite to answer a question with a question.”

“It also isn’t polite to disregard someone’s question.” Prowl stated calmly. “Now you’re just as bad as me.”

She narrowed her optics in a non-threatening manner. “Do you really think of yourself in that way, Praxian?”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“And you haven’t answered mine.”

“I was collecting information. I cannot answer without viewing all my options.”

The two Princes looked at each other and shrugged. They could sense an argument building up.

“Well, we are competing for the servo of the Prince. I thought it was a very appropriate question. Besides, I’ve never heard your voice before. Why is that?”

“I find that action speaks louder than words. Isn’t that why we’re here? We’re not wooing the Prince with poetry.”

The Princess looked away. “True.”

There was a moment of silence before the Prince of Tyger Pax spoke up. “Praxian, I heard your brother was just bonded to a nice piece of aft.”

Prowl’s quirked an optic ridge. “I don’t think my brother would appreciate you referring to his mate as such.”

* * *

“I just wanted to know if she was as hot as they say she is.”

Prowl tried to suppress his snarl. “The Queen of Praxus has been blessed with beauty, that much is true.”

Before the vulgar mech could say anything more, Prowl stood up and retired to his quarters.

The next morning, the kingdom was rallied in the arena once more. The King appeared in his viewing booth with his family to give a speech.

“Citizens of Iacon,” he started. “Yesterday, we were given a display of bravery and strength. Today, we shall see how the suitors react in combat.”

To the suitors, the roar of the audience was nothing more than white noise. Servo to servo combat took concentration. Statistically speaking, it was more common for someone to die in combat than a sword fight.

The Prince of Tyger Pax had an obvious advantage. The mech was tall and bulky. If he wanted to, he could pick up his opponent and throw them out of the ring. He wouldn’t do that of course. The goal was to win, that much was true. But it was also vital to please the King and Queen. At the end of the decacycle, they were the ones who would decide who their son would bond to. The trials were just there to prove their worth. 

“For our first round, we will have The Prince of Praxus and the Prince of Crystal City.” The King said.

The Praxian had to suppress a smile. This would be an easy win. The Prince of Crystal City was clever, but in this fight like this, strength mattered most. He just hoped the Princess won against Tyger Pax. He knew he stood no chance against him, and if anyone could beat him it was her. 

Another problem was the wound on his chassis. It was a weakness he hoped no one would utilize. He had accepted no painkillers, fearing they would hinder his performance.

The Prince of Praxus and the Prince of Crystal City were put in a bigger ring than last time. This one was elevated off the ground. That meant that if anyone fell off, it was an automatic loss.

The two Princes stood proudly on either side of the arena. Using a method to throw off his opponent, the Praxian offlined his optics and relied solely on his other senses.

The buzzer sounded and The Prince of Crystal City attacked first. He threw a punch at the Praxian. He dodged, optics still offline. The Prince tried to charge again but found his wrists to be caught in his opponent’s grasp. The Praxian Prince launched his knee into his abdomen and finally let go.

The smaller mech coughed and fell to his servos and knees. The Praxian took his elbow and struck him in the helm. His optics went dark and he fell on his side.  
The spectators were in a stunned silence at the quickness of the fight. The referee checked his timer. Thirty-four seconds.

Medics rushed out and collected The Princes. Both of them were led to the med bay where their wounds were treated.

The med bay was large and rectangular. Medics of all shapes and sized were milling about, carrying supplies with them. The larger mech was sat on a medical berth, his counterpart on the one next to him.

The Praxian hadn’t received any wounds from this fight, but the one from yesterday was being retreated. The medics insisted he be at his best for his performances.

He listened in on conversations to help calm himself before the next fight. He desperately hoped he wouldn’t have to fight Tyger Pax.

His attention shifted to the medics working on the Prince of Crystal City. “Cracked fuel pump.” a femme said.

The Praxian looked away. He didn’t mean to hurt him that badly. No wonder he crumbled so quickly.

“My Lord.” a voice said. “I’m hear to reweld your wound if you so desire.”

The Prince saw a young mech standing before him, welder already in servo. “Of course,” he said.  
The young medic instantly got to work. He turned on his welder and started to make another patch job over the previous one.

“Everyone’s talking about you.” he said while working.

He replied calmly, “Are they?”

“Yes, you finished the fight within thirty-four seconds.”

“Thirty-four?”

The medic nodded.

“I just hope the next one will be finished as quickly.”

After the wound was resealed, the Praxian was called back into the arena. His optics darted to his opponent and saw a blue mech.

He would have to fight the Prince of Tyger Pax.


	4. Midnight Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, we finally see Prowl and Jazz interact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to make the fight scene short so we can move onto the actual story.

He and his opponent stood on opposite sides of one another. The Prince of Tyger Pax was sporting a few wounds from the last fight, all of which had dried energon caked on top. The Prince of Praxus didn’t see the fight but he heard it was brutal. 

The Praxian knew to keep calm. From past fights, he found that adrenaline worked against him. It tired him out quickly and made his servos tremble. That adrenaline was there to keep him online and nothing else. So, by keeping calm, he was preserving his energy and agility. 

The buzzer sounded and Tyger Pax immediately sprung into action. The Praxian Prince found him to suddenly be in the air with a fist surging towards him. He dived and rolled out of the way just in time. 

The larger mech spun around and aimed another fist at the Praxian. He caught it by the wrist. Using all his strength, he turned around and pulled his opponent over himself. Tyger Pax flew through the air and landed on his side. Cracks in the stone appeared. The crowd cried out, fascinated with the Praxian’s display of strength. 

Yet, he was back up in a matter of seconds. The other Prince had to think fast if he wanted to have any chance at beating him. He knew that he was smaller than him, but maybe that could be used to his advantage. 

With new found determination the larger mech heaved himself off the ground. The Prince had to think fast. He rushed towards him and delivered a kick to his chassis. The larger mech was overcome with his attack and flew backward. The Praxian watched as he thudded outside of the ring. 

The spectators applauded. He could hear them chanting his designation. Once more, the medics were at their side to treat their wounds. 

This time, it was the Praxian who stood next to the King to be awarded. When they were dismissed, the Prince called out to Jazz. He whirled around and faced him. 

It was the first time either of them had been so close to each other. Jazz’ visor was bright and curious. The Praxian’s face was as stoic as ever. 

The taller Prince took his servo and pressed a kiss to it. It sent chills down the Prince of Iacon’s back.

“You did well today.” he said.

The other Prince looked up. “Thank you.”

* * *

The Prince of Iacon knew this wasn’t allowed. Information about the suitors was hidden for this exact reason.

Jazz had taken a liking to the Praxian, something that was strictly against the rules. If anyone found out about this, both he and the Prince of Praxus would be in trouble. He shouldn’t be doing this but found his curiosity to be fierce.

It was in the dead of night. No one would be up at this joor except for a few guards on the graveyard shift. 

He inched through the hallways, stopping occasionally to look around. He eventually made it to the Praxian’s quarters. Jazz found himself gazing at the lettering, ‘The Prince of Praxus’ that was engraved on top. 

The Prince wanted to go in but found himself stuck to the floor. His servo balled into a fist and rapped on the door. He heard nothing. Taking a deep vent, he tried again. Still nothing. Growing tired of this pattern, he laid his servo on the doorknob and opened it. 

Jazz took a good long look at the room. The Prince took a few steps inside the room, now standing in the middle. He hadn’t ever been inside of a guest room, they were nice. To the right, there was a berth. To his left there was a door, presumably leading to the wash racks. Scattered around, there were things like shelves and a desk. 

He heard a small click to his left. The light that was once there, was gone. Now the only light source was a small light on the desk.

He whirled around and found the source of the noise. The Prince of Praxus was standing in the doorway, water clinging to his bare frame. A towel was wrapped around his hips, hiding his lower half. The Prince’s helm slowly turned upwards until he saw Jazz.

His optics went wide. “My Prince?” he said.

Jazz took a step back and stuttered nonsense. 

“Prince of Iacon,” his deep voice said. “Is everything alright?”

Jazz’ gaze turned to his frame. His optics trailed up his torso until he got to the scar across his chassis. There were many others, but that one stood out the most. The memory of the Princess slashing his chassis open was still fresh in his mind. Jazz remembered being amazed at how he restrained the pain. 

“I’m well.” Jazz finally forced himself to say.

The Praxian tried to search for the right words. He couldn’t outwardly ask why he was here, it was impolite.

He finally settled on, “Do you need anything, my Prince?”

Jazz took another small step backward. “No.” His optics shied away. “I actually wanted to ask you something.”

The other Prince nodded. “What is it?”

Frag! Jazz mentally cursed himself. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. Compiling all his thoughts into words, he settled on something.

“What’s your name?” he blurted. 

The Praxian Prince was taken aback. He weakly gripped the doorway, not sure what to do next. 

In a quieter tone Jazz said, “I know it’s against the rules, but I need to know.”

The Prince let go of the doorframe and stood up straight. “My designation is Prowl.”

“Prowl.” he repeated. 

His optics drifted over Prowl’s frame once more. This time, looking at all the other scars. Jazz didn’t have any scars like the ones he had. The ones he had were jagged, the weld marks still visible.

“You have many scars,” he said. “Why?”

“The battles you’ve seen in the arena, are not the first I’ve ever been in.”

“I was under the previous impression that Praxians aren’t warriors.”

“We aren’t,” he said. “That’s why I have to be, so I can defend my citizens if the need arises.”

Jazz’ visor brightened. Already, this mech was intriguing. He wanted to hear more but felt like he was invading. After all, he was wearing nothing but a towel. 

He smiled and turned to leave. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Prowl.”

Suddenly, Prowl was at his side and grabbed Jazz’ wrist. “Shall I escort you?”

Jazz shook his helm. “If they see us together, they’ll assume something’s wrong. If they see me, they’ll think nothing of it.”

Prowl nodded. He lifted the servo to his lips and planted a kiss on it. “Tomorrow, expect to see me standing on the balcony again.” 

Jazz nodded. “I will.”

He let go of his servo. “Recharge well.”


	6. Unexpected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is hella short, but the next one will be longer. Believe me.

The four suitors stood on their marks, small white dots painted on the ground. Next to them was a bow and a quiver of arrows. Several yards in front of them were their targets.

This trial was fairly simple, hit the red dot in the middle of the target. Whoever gets the closest to it, wins. 

The first one to try was the Princess of Kaon. She took a step forward with one pede to form her stance. She took an arrow and put it on the string. The audience watched numbly as she drew the arrow back and aimed. The Princess vented and released. The arrow whirled and landed on the third ring of the target.

The femme wasn’t satisfied but tried not to show it, as if she meant to do that. She pursed her lips and stepped back. The crowd cheered regardless.

The next contestant was Prowl. His actions were similar to the Princess’. Step forward, string the arrow, draw back, and release. Prowl’s arrow went flying and hit the ring bordering the bullseye. 

Not bad but not great. He could still win as long as no one got a bullseye. 

The Prince of Tyger Pax was up next. In a matter of seconds, he boldly yanked the arrow back and released. The tip was embedded in the outer ring on the edge of the target. 

The Prince’s frame went limp. The crowd gave an uncomfortable applause as he took a step back. There was tenderness in the audience’s praise. So far, Tyger Pax hadn’t won a single competition. Neither had the Prince of Crystal City, but that was already anticipated. 

The last Prince took a step forward. He nocked an arrow on the string and drew back. 

The sound of the arrow making contact against the target was heard across the arena. It happened so quickly, no one was able to do anything but stare. 

They stared at the arrow embedded in the red circle. The bullseye to be exact. 

Prowl vented in disappointment. At least he still had one point, unlike the Prince of Tyger Pax. 

“The victor is the Prince of Crystal City.” was all the King could say. 

During the award ceremony, Prowl caught a glimpse of Jazz. He knew that behind the visor, he was suppressing his surprise. He could see the rigidness in his shoulders and the stiffness in his servos. 

No matter how much Jazz wanted to deny it, he was scared of the outcome. And Prowl knew that. He may be the only one, but he knew. 

There was a good chance that Jazz favored Prowl. After all, he did visit him in the middle of the lunar cycle and saw him partially naked. 

But why did Jazz visit in the first place? 

Having any sort of outside relations with the suitors was strictly prohibited. By speaking to Prowl in secret, he was putting both of them in danger. Not exactly a selfless choice. 

Surely, Jazz knew what he was doing. None of this was unintentional. He wanted to get to know Prowl because he favored him, so much that he was willing to put both of them at risk. 

Prowl was unsure if Jazz even knew this about himself.

* * *

Unless Tyger Pax won, this would be the final trial. 

Like always, they didn’t know what it would be until they got to the arena. When they did arrive, they were told to go to the corners of the arena where a sword and shield was waiting. 

Prowl assumed it would be a battle between the four of them. Of course, why not end it with a bath of energon?

The buzzer didn’t sound even when they were fully armed. The four suitors remained awkwardly still for a moment, unsure of what was going to happen. Then a deep rumbling started below them. 

Plates in the middle of the arena shifted. A platform emerged with a terrifying beast attached. 

The beast was quite large. It appeared to be in a quiet state at the moment. Its sides heaved with every vent, making its spiky plating shift. There was a collar attached to the beast’s neck. A thick chain had it bolted to the ground.

The King stepped to the edge of the balcony and put his arms out in a presenting fashion. “I present to you, our final trial.”


	7. Victor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm going on vacation to a place that may or may not have internet. If there is, I'll post. If not, expect a post on Tuesday when I get back.

Tyger Pax’s snarl could be heard from a mile away. 

“Whichever brave warrior slays the beast, will be given the spark of my son. Good luck to all of you.”

The buzzer finally sounded and the collar snapped off. All four warriors charged the beast. It’s optics shot open. It raised its helm and saw the suitors charging at him. 

The Princess was the first to reach it. She decided to be bold and stabbed its shoulder. The beast stood up fully and turned its helm towards her. 

When standing fully, the beast's shoulders were arched high above it's back. The plating shifted as it shook its frame. The beast emitted an audio shattering roar. The warriors froze at the size of the beast, realizing the difficulty of this challenge. 

Prowl heard a high-pitched whining coming from behind him. He turned to see the Prince of Crystal City paralyzed. His optics went blank before he collapsed on himself. 

Turning back to the fight, he saw the Princess and the Prince fighting the beast. Both of them were already sporting wounds. Prowl put his shield in front of him and ran into the chaos. 

He banged his sword against his shield a few times to get the beast’s attention. It didn’t notice him. He delivered a slash to the beast’s face plates. Now it was interested. 

The beast moved its helm at a better angle to nip at him. Prowl moved just in time and only received a minor wound. The slash marks across his chassis began to ooze energon. 

The beast threw its helm up and shook its long neck. It angled its snout towards the Prince and Princess and released a stream of fire. The Royals held their shield up in front of them to block the fire. Seeing that the suitors were unharmed, the crowd cheered.

This fight was going nowhere, fast. He knew that his counterparts were beginning to tire. They were doing everything in their power to make some sort of mark on the beast but to no prevail. Thinking fast, Prowl came up with a plan. 

The Prince sprinted towards the middle. He knelt down near the chain and started to strike the base with the handle of his sword. The metal became weaker and weaker until it finally snapped. 

He grabbed both ends of it and charged towards the beast. While it was still distracted by Tyger Pax, he bounced up into the air and landed on the side of its neck. Using his sword as a pick, he climbed to the top. 

The beast didn’t seem to notice, it was far too busy with the Prince and Princess to notice anything else. So Prowl climbed up to the helm and wrapped the chain around its jaw. Finally taking note of him, the beast roared. 

The Prince of Tyger Pax was undeterred. He saw what the Praxian was doing and didn’t like it. He had one chance left and wasn’t about to let it slip.

He charged at the beast, trying to kill it before Prowl did, his shield in front of him and his sword barred. 

But before he could do anything, Prowl yanked the chains back and made the beast tilt its helm upwards. He swung his sword and embedded it in the beast’s helm. A surge of energon erupted from the wound. 

It released one last cry before its legs collapsed and it went limp completely. Prowl gave a vent of relief. He slid off the beast’s neck and took a look at his surroundings. 

The crowd was rejoicing, pleased with the battle. The other suitors bowed their helms in deep respect. 

The King stood on the edge of the balcony. “It appears we have a winner!”

More cheering pursued. Medics rushed out, more frantic this time. The suitors were immediately taken to the med bay. 

Prowl was a bit disengaged from reality. He’d never been in a fight so intense. For a short time, he recognized that the medics were treating him. He didn’t feel anything so he assumed that they had already numbed him. Eventually, there came a time where the darkness consumed him and he slipped into stasis.

* * *

The Prince onlined in a different room than what he offlined in. He felt like he had some sort of weighted armor on, but in reality, he was completely exposed. The fatigue was already getting to him, making it hard to move his frame. 

He began to remember what happened in the past few decacycles. He just wished he could remember how long ago it was, his internal chronometer was still discombobulated. Regardless, it felt good to know that he won.

Prowl laid in the berth while waiting for his processor to clear. While doing so, he began to take in his surroundings. There were small tables on either side of him. On the left wall, there was a window reaching the ceiling and the floor. In front of the window was a round table and chairs. To his right was a door, presumably leading to the outside. On the wall in front of him were some shelving and another door.

His attention was brought to the left side of the room when the door knob turned. The door swung open and a servant bowed.

She clasped her servos in front of her chassis as she spoke, “ My Lord,” she said. “I’ve come to prepare you for your conference with the King.”

Prowl was sitting up in an instant, grimacing at the wounds. “So soon?”

“You’ve been in stasis for several cycles and the King wished to waste no more time.” she said. 

Prowl nodded. He was a bit unsure whether or not he’d actually been chosen. The King and Queen had a choice whether or not they wanted to choose the victor to be their heir.

A few other servants came in as well. They helped Prowl to stand and presented him with freshly polished armor. It provided Prowl some relief. It wasn't proper to speak with a King while looking anything but their best.

The servants led him through the twists and turns of the castle until they got to a double door. The door was tall and engraved with different designs. 

Two of the servants stood on either side with their servos on the door handles. The other servant positioned herself in front of Prowl. She signaled to the other two who wrenched the doors open. 

“My King,” she bowed deeply. 

Prowl used this time to recompose himself. He stiffened his doorwings into a position that made himself appear larger. He bent his arms at the elbows and held his servos behind his back. 

“The Prince of Praxus is here.”

She moved to the side and revealed the black and white Praxian. Prowl stepped into the room. It appeared to be the King’s study. 

There were shelves of data pads extending all the way up to the roof. On the roof, was a skylight made from colored glass. In the back, there was a desk with a window behind it. Sitting at the desk was a mech facing the window. 

Prowl instantly felt vulnerable. Here he was, a smaller mech, standing in the middle of a King's study. He wanted to get this over with but had a feeling the King would drag this on forever. 

The servants disappeared, leaving them both alone. Prowl bowed.   
“My King,” he started. “It is an honor to be in your presence.”

He stood back up to his full height. There was a moment of silence before the King finally spoke. 

“Sit.”

Prowl proceeded to the seat in front of his desk in the most dignified manner he could muster. The King waited a few seconds before speaking again. 

His deep calm voice pierced the air, “The games were rigged.”

Prowl’s optics widened. He sat on the edge of his chair, gripping the armrests. “Forgive me, sir, but I think I heard you wrong-”

“The games were rigged,” he interjected in the same monotone voice as before. “It’s a wonder you succeeded.”

Prowl swallowed hard. “Rigged?” he uttered. 

“Indeed. I was hoping you’d all die,” he said matter of factly. 

Prowl’s back was practically a ruler now. He fought to maintain his hard exterior. 

So the King didn’t like Prowl after all. He just had to pick the Prince because he won fair and square. 

“M-May I ask why, sir?” he stuttered.

“I was under the impression that none of you were capable.” the King stood up and walked to the window. “But that was until Jazz told me about you.”

The Prince marveled at the deep slowness of his voice. He spoke sluggishly and calmly.

Prowl’s processor went back to when Jazz visited him. Was it possible he knew?

“Jazz has come to you before, has he not?”

Choosing the honest route, Prowl answered, “He has.”

The King nodded. “Well, when my mate and I were choosing, he put in a good word for you. Said you would be a good leader.”

Prowl couldn’t think of anything to say. Hearing the silence, the King continued. 

“I’m friends with you sire, did you know that, Prowl?” he asked the Praxian.

“I did.”

“Jazz is friends with your brother, did you know that, Prowl?”

“I did not.”

The King chuckled. “Well, I’ll admit. I was hoping your brother would come instead of you.” he paused for a period of time. It was short, but to Prowl it felt like forever. “But you pleasantly surprised me.”

Prowl was silent. 

“At first, I didn’t want to give Jazz away to any of you, so I rigged the games.” He continued, “I put magnets in the targets, provided you with dull swords, put additives in the energon to make you all tire faster.”

“I assume it didn’t work.” Prowl said. 

“It did, on everyone except for you.”

Prowl paused to formulate his words. “I’m afraid I can only plead ignorance, sir.”

“Don’t plead. You did nothing wrong. That’s why I chose you.”

Prowl shook his helm. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“The other suitors were caught cheating several times. The Prince of Tyger Pax started fights with his competitors. The Princess tried to poison everyone. The Prince of Crystal City even tried hacking into our databases. And you? You didn’t do anything. Now I know I can trust you, with both my kingdom and with Jazz”

Prowl gave a firm nod, even though the King couldn’t see it. “I’ll do my best as a leader and as a mate.”

“Good.”

The King finally turned around. Prowl was able to see his tall white frame, light shining against it. 

“As for the bonding ceremony and coronation,” he started. “Both have been postponed until you are fully healed.”

Prowl gave a quiet thank you. Then his processor turned to other business. 

“I assume I cannot see Jazz until after the ceremony.”

"You may.” the King stated. “But only casually.”

Prowl was elated by this. He had wanted to get to know Jazz. After all, he’d be giving him his spark and spending the rest of his life with him. 

“Thank you, sir.” Prowl bowed his helm. 

“I have already sent for your family. They shall arrive within the decacycle. For now, you are free to roam around the castle. Any questions?”

“No sir.”

“Dismissed.”

Prowl stood from his chair, bowed once more, and left.


	8. Barriers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz and Prowl have a short talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so, I didn't post because I just went on the worst vacation of my life without wifi. I won't go into details, but basically, everyone was drunk (I don't like drunk people for reasons unspecified). When I got back, I found out that my mother rearranged my room...
> 
> But hey! I'm updating now. I'm a bit behind on my writing because I didn't have wifi, but I plan on writing a lot tonight.

For the past few cycles, Prowl had spent most of his time in the library. 

The library had shelves upon shelves of books. There were staircases on either side of the room, leading up to the loft. In the loft were even more shelves and books. Scattered around, were couches and chairs piled with cushions. All the metal work was engraved with words and symbols. Quotes from scripture decorated the handrailing. On the walls, scenes from famous novels were painted and carved.

As much as he tried to hide it, he was stressed. He found the solitude of the library to be calming. Hardly anyone ever came. When someone did enter, it was usually a servant. 

Prowl had wanted to talk to Jazz but never found the courage. When he did finally search for Jazz, he couldn’t find him. It was almost as if the mech didn’t want to be found. 

Little did he know, a small mech was lurking in the shadows. As Prowl walked through the aisles, he followed him from above. Jazz would stop and stare at him, tracking his every move and learning his body language. When Prowl would mutter something to himself, he would listen in, memorizing every word. Jazz was captivated with him. 

The Prince found him charming. When he saw Prowl before, he was always so stiff. His doorwings would be hiked up his back, servos typically held in front of him or behind himself, speaking only formally. But now, when he thought he was alone, his personality blossomed. Now he could see how Prowl behaved behind closed doors. 

Jazz saw it as ‘research’. As his future mate, he’d be seeing who Prowl really was. It was both invigorating and terrifying. 

When Prowl wasn’t in the library, Jazz would climb down from the loft and place data pads out on tables and chairs. He’d read them before and hoped that Prowl would see them and begin to read them as well. 

A few times, Prowl did start reading the data pad. Once or twice, he took it back to his quarters. Those were the cycles that made Jazz practically shake with glee. 

At this point, he didn’t know how many joors he’d spent following Prowl. Every cycle, he’d online early and rush to the library in hopes of getting there before him. 

One lunar cycle, Prowl found himself unable to recharge. He sat up and checked his internal chronometer. It was around 0500. Knowing he wasn't going to get any more recharge, he swung his pedes off the side of his berth and made his trek to the library. 

Jazz had a new data pad clutched to his chassis. His pedes beat against the floor as he ran to the library. The windows he ran past displayed how early it was. The sun was beginning to rise over the horizon. Building casted dark shadows across the walls. The first few servants were starting to mill about as the guards from the night shift retired to their quarters. 

He made it to the library and slipped inside. As he was making his way to the shelves, he heard a low voice. His visor got bright as he rounded the corner and found the source of the voice. 

The Praxian mech stood facing the shelf. He was looking at a data pad while speaking into a communicator. He hadn’t noticed Jazz yet. Jazz hid behind the shelf and chose to listen in on the conversation.

“How did you make it look so easy?” Prowl asked. 

There were a few moments of a muffled voice before Prowl spoke again. 

“But I hardly know him.” Prowl said a bit quieter. “The only ties that I have to him are through you, and I’m not even sure if he knows we’re related.”

The voice on the other line started speaking. This time, was a much longer speech. Prowl was silent through all of it. 

Jazz couldn’t help but note the distress in Prowl’s frame. His wings were lowered dramatically, twitching whenever the person on the other line started to speak. 

Prowl put the data pad down. “Just promise me you won’t ditch me,” he stated firmly. 

Jazz could hear the pause in their voice before speaking again. 

Prowl vented wistfully. “I’ll see you soon,” he said. 

The other voice muttered a soft goodbye before cutting out. Prowl vented again and leaned against the shelf. His helm flicked to the side, sensing another presence. 

Jazz gasped and hid behind the wall, clutching the data pad to his chassis. Taking a deep vent, he reluctantly peered around the corner. Prowl was gone. 

Jazz stepped out fully, the data pad now tossed to the side of his frame. He scampered further into the aisle. Prowl was truly gone. 

"My Prince.”

He practically jumped out of his own plating. 

Whirling around, he saw the black and white mech standing where he once stood. Jazz pressed the data pad closer to his chassis now, as if it was a shield. 

“Prowl!” he cried. “I-I mean, my Prince.” 

Prowl placed a servo to his chassis and bowed to Jazz. “Your sire gave me permission to speak with you, so there is no need to run.”

Jazz calmed a bit. “I’m glad.” he chuckled a bit. “Considering we’ll be…”

Prowl quickly finished for him, “Bonded?”

Jazz found Prowl’s blunt honesty to be humorous. At least he knew he could trust him to always tell the truth. 

“Indeed.” Jazz smiled. “I suppose we should try to acquaint ourselves before the bonding ceremony, yes?”

“I agree. Are there any activities you have in mind?”

Jazz wracked his brain for suggestions. He didn’t expect Prowl to ask for his opinion. Prowl struck Jazz as a mech who liked to be in control. Not quite a control freak, but someone who didn’t like surprises. 

“How about a walk around the castle?” he proposed. 

He praised himself for coming up with an idea that would appease Prowl’s tastes. Jazz could be sporadic and unpredictable, something that Prowl was not. He just hoped that they could adjust to each other to make it work.

Prowl nodded and motioned for Jazz to lead the way. As Jazz walked past, he stuck his elbow out. Jazz smiled and wrapped his arm around it. 

Jazz took the initiative and led Prowl around the castle. He showed Prowl around the twists and turns of the palace. They passed many servants, all greeting them with a bow. They’d nod back to them and continue on their path. Occasionally, they’d hear snickering or hushed whispers. At least someone had hope in them. 

Soon, they found themselves to be outside. The sun was now higher in the sky, casting little shadows over them as they walked. 

Throughout their stroll, Jazz found himself to be doing most of the talking. He knew that Prowl was a mech of little words. But after this experience, a mech of no words was much more fitting. Jazz found himself to be speaking just to fill in the awkward silences, as Prowl would usually reply with one worded answers. 

As they neared a fountain, Jazz found himself to be out of things to say. What to say to a mech who won’t say anything back?

“Prowl,” Jazz said, finally coming up with a question that would prompt him to say more than two words. “Do you think you’ll be happy here?”

It was an informal greeting, followed by an out of place question. Prowl would surely be made uncomfortable. But Jazz felt like it was the right thing to do. It had been nearly a joor and Prowl had said a total of twelve words. 

Jazz could feel him stiffen. “I think that these living conditions will be adequate.”

Jazz’ visor dimmed. “Prowl, do you realize that you spend most of your time wandering the library?”

Prowl’s optics drifted off into the distance. “I do.”

“Will you miss your home?” Jazz asked. 

As they made a turn to head back to the castle, Prowl answered, “Of course.”

Jazz laid his other servo on Prowl’s arm. “I’m sorry that you have to leave Praxus.”

He closed his optics and vented. “I thank you for your pity, my Prince, but it is unnecessary. As the younger brother, it had always been destined for me. I believe that I am leaving Praxus in good servos.”

Jazz made a note of Prowl’s sudden platonic attitude. He watched at the mech shifted uncomfortably while walking, doorwings rising a bit higher. 

Now Jazz knew that Prowl was one to put up barriers around himself.


	9. Greetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, this chapter fought me so hard. I'll probably end up editing it later on, but for now, just bare with me.
> 
> Also, I tried to add some humor to Prowl and Smokescreen's conversation, but I'm not sure if it worked out...

Prowl watched from the control room as the jet touched down. A group of mechs and femmes were swarmed off to the side of the tarmac. It was the Iaconian royal family. 

Prowl knew he should be down there. If he wasn’t, his family would surely suspect something was wrong.

Clouds of dust escaped from under the ship as workers scattered to make room. There was a moment of silence before a long stairway extended from the side of the ship. 

A group of knights appeared, followed by a mech and a femme. It was Prowl’s creators. Upon seeing the first of his family, Prowl instantly rushed out of the control room. 

As he was reaching the tarmac, he saw his youngest brother, Bluestreak beginning his trek down the stairs. Prowl watched as he eagerly took in his surroundings. He hadn’t seen his brother in what felt like forever.

Finally, he saw his elder brother and his mate. Smokescreen was by far the tallest, his mate not too far behind him. On his arm, was a tall red femme. Before Prowl left, they were coronated as the official King and Queen of Praxus.

Prowl joined the royal family on the tarmac and stood by Jazz. He acknowledged his presence with a short nod. 

“Where were you?” he asked.

Prowl pointed to the command room. “I wanted a better view.”

Jazz nodded and turned to the femme and mech who had just arrived. The King and Queen of Iacon bowed to them. Prowl’s attention was suddenly on his creators. Seeing that they were in public, he gave them a mere bow which they returned. 

Bluestreak made his appearance while his creators were being greeted by everyone else. Prowl waited anxiously until he was directly in front of him. They bowed to each other, not making optic contact until they came up from the bow. Prowl mouthed a short message to him. 

“Later,”

Bluestreak replied with a short nod before greeting everyone else. 

Finally, Smokescreen and Nova appeared. Acting upon the custom, Prowl took the Queen’s servo and planted a kiss on top of it. Once she pulled it back, they all bowed. 

Smokescreen caught Prowl’s attention for a brief moment. 

“Later,” he whispered.

* * *

Smokescreen sat on Prowl’s berth, watching him pace in front of him. 

“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor.” Smokescreen said nonchalantly. 

“I have every reason to.” Prowl replied rather snappishly. “I’m being crowned the King of Iacon in two cycles!”

Smokescreen waved him off. “Coronation ceremonies aren’t that bad! You get to wear a cool cape and then an even cooler crown.”

“I’m not worried about the wardrobe.” Prowl stopped and stood in front of his older brother. “You know what happens after the coronation ceremony.”

Smokescreen gave it a moment’s thought. “The bonding ceremony?”

Prowl nodded, lips pursed. 

“Ah, that’s not that bad!” he laughed. “What’s better is the lunar cycle after.”

Prowl sputtered nonsense at his vulgar attitude. Smokescreen remained seated and watched his brother leap backward.

“At least you knew Nova before you gave her your spark!” he spat in annoyance. 

Seeing that his brother was distressed, Smokescreen took a quieter tone. “Just try to act natural,” he said. “You’ve got that hard loner exterior. Ditch it.”

“Ditch it?”

Smokescreen nodded. “It’ll take away the awkwardness.” 

He stood up and walked to the window. Prowl watched as the light reflected off his armor. The breeze from the cracked window made his cape twirl. With his servos held behind his back, he continued. 

“If you want my opinion, don’t put off the interfacing. The sooner you do it, the less awkward it will be. Besides, with a mech like Jazz, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“I called you in here to help me.” Prowl huffed.

“I am.” he smiled. “I’m being blunt, it’s the only language you seem to understand.”

Prowl took a moment to ponder Smokescreen’s words. 

He asked, “Should I stop being so blunt?”

“No,” Smokescreen stated simply. “If you make a drastic change in yourself, it’ll be uncomfortable for both you and Jazz.”

Prowl tossed his helm to the side. “I don’t think that Jazz will like this version of me.” 

The elder brother whirled around. “Sure he will!” He tilted his helm to the side. “You just need some confidence, like me.”

"Smokescreen, your confidence is arrogance.”

He slung his thick arm around Prowl’s shoulders. “Better than nothing!”

Prowl was completely silent. Smokescreen’s smile faded as he looked to his brother, finally realizing his desperation. 

Prowl continued to be mute, waiting for his brother to say something, anything. Smokescreen always knew what to say. Whether it was a piece of wisdom, a joke, anything, it was always the right thing to say.

“I’ll help you fake your death.”

That was not what Prowl was looking for.

“Too much?”

Prowl looked up at his brother and nodded. 

Smokescreen removed his arm from his shoulders. “Right.” he vented. 

Prowl finally met his optics. “How do you and Nova make it work?”

Smokescreen’s face plates went blank. “A lot of interfacing. Like every cycle.” Prowl gave him a disappointed look. “You asked!”

“Aside from that.”

Smokescreen’s optics furrowed deep in thought. “Well, before we bonded, we’d known each other for quite some time. I guess the mutual respect was already there.” he paused. “But most importantly, remember that Jazz is probably nervous too.”

Prowl nodded. Deciding he’d given Prowl the right advice, Smokescreen headed towards the door.

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” he announced. “I gotta go get some.”


	10. First Lunar Cycle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just know that this chapter fought me so hard...

Jazz looked at himself in the mirror as a servant laid jewelry on top of him. His expression was flat and stiff, shoulders squared, back straight.

Today he’d be crowned the King of Iacon. Then he’d be whisked off to his bonding ceremony. After that, he’d be put in a berthroom with his new mate, alone. It was a simple schedule to follow, but there were so many rules that applied.

He’d heard of many mecha referring to their bonding ceremony as ‘the happiest cycle of their functioning’. Jazz didn’t understand it. He was practically trembling with fear. He hardly knew Prowl and now he had to give him his spark?

Jazz told himself that Prowl deserved it. He won the games fair and square. 

He didn’t want to be selfish, but he still thought that he deserved to be happy. Again and again, he told himself that he would be happy with Prowl. He just hoped that he could make Prowl equally happy. 

A group of heavily armed knights arrived to be his escorts. As he walked with them to the hall, his cape flowed behind him. The crystals on the ends of the chains dangled and swayed with every step. A thin layer of fabric draped over his faceplates, the glow of his visor shining through. 

Two of the knights positioned themselves on either side of Jazz and ran ahead to open the double doors.

From the inside, a whining of hinges was heard. Helms turned towards the back of the room to see the soon-to-be-king. Prowl, who was already at the front of the altar, straightened up and watched him as well. 

Jazz began his decent down the altar. All rose in respect for their new king. The only noise in the room was the sound of his pedes clacking against the marble.  
Jazz tried to keep his optics off of Prowl but found it difficult. Out of all the aisles of mecha who were staring, Prowl was by far the most intense. His optics held his predatory gaze, only this time, it was all the more intense. 

Not only were his optics intensive, the rest of his frame was as well. On his shoulders, sat thick plating and a cape, making his upper half look strong and studly. His bottom half was left virtually untouched, other than the thin armor. It gave his frame even more of a masculine shape.

Once he reached the front, he stopped next to Prowl and looked to his sire. His sire put his servo up as a signal for everyone to be seated.

He began his speech. Neither Jazz nor Prowl paid any attention. Both were trying to divert their optics away from each other.

“Prince of Praxus,” the King began. “Do you take the city-state of Iacon to be your kingdom?”

Prowl got on one knee and bowed, his cape catching the air and flowing gracefully on top of his frame. His vents hitched, his spark was racing. All he had to do was grind out two words to be crowned the king. It was easy.

“I do.”

The King placed the delicate crown on his helm and motioned for him to stand. 

“Prince of Iacon,” he addressed his son. “Do you take the city-state of Iacon to be your kingdom?”

Jazz mimicked Prowl’s motion of bowing, cape doing relatively the same thing. Jazz took a deep vent.

“I do.”

He placed the other crown on Jazz’ helm and motioned for him to rise.

The mechs turned towards the crowd. Their sparks were beating out of their chassises, positive that the other could hear it. Yet, they somehow maintained their proud exterior.

“I pronounce you,” the King began.

Prowl’s vents hitched. He couldn’t move.

“Prowl and Jazz,”

He bit his lip, feeling a glitch starting to form in his processor.

“Kings of Iacon.”

He let go of the vent he was holding in. The crowd stood and cheered. Through the crowd, he saw a tall blue mech with a red femme on his arm. Smokescreen. Next to them, was a smaller gray mech. Bluestreak. 

Prowl gave them a small smile before offering his arm to Jazz. He gladly grabbed a hold of it and stepped down the aisle. Side by side, they paraded out of the hall, waving occasionally to the small audience.

* * *

For the second time that cycle, the two mechs stood parallel from themselves. They felt as if they were being put on display. In a sense, they were. When it came to royals, bonding ceremonies were rarely for the couples. Often times, they were seen as nothing other than political opportunities. 

The mech speaking was ignored by Jazz and Prowl. Both of them were focusing on other things.

Prowl desperately tried to recall his brother’s bonding ceremony. All he could remember was Smokescreen’s excessive drinking.

Jazz found his optics to be wandering to Prowl’s frame, his abdomen to be exact. The shoulder plating made his top half delve into a slim waistline, highlighting the shape of his plating. He knew that Prowl wasn’t listening, but who could blame him? Smokescreen had told him how nervous he was. As a result, Jazz grew to be more understanding. 

“King Prowl,” the mech said. “Do you take Jazz as your mate?”

It was the coronation ceremony all over again. All he had to do was say two little words. 

“I do.” he uttered with as much confidence as he could muster.

The mech nodded and turned to Jazz. “Do you, King Jazz, take Prowl as your mate?”

With more confidence than Prowl, Jazz said. “I do.”

The mech stepped forward. “Then let us rise,” he raised his servos. “In honor of two lovers joined together.”

Lovers? Jazz thought. Not quite.

Prowl also caught the ‘lovers’ part of his speech. It only made the reality of the situation sink in even more. 

The two ‘lovers’ intertwined arms and began their descent down the aisle for the umpteenth time that day. There was cheering. Everyone stood and clapped for the two. 

Jazz could feel how stiff Prowl was. Prowl noticed how far away Jazz was walking. It led them both to the same question, Does every newly bonded royal experience this?

Once again the two were separated and dragged off to different rooms to be given new attire. This is getting to be routine, Prowl couldn’t help but think. 

Jazz and Prowl met again at the after party. They were pushed together by groups of servants who were ordered to say, ‘Stay together.’ It made both mechs sneer, knowing that it was their own creators who demanded them to say it.

The after party was held in the ballroom. Tables were covered in high grade and other confections. Other guests were already wandering about, talking to each other and occasionally glancing at the two new Kings.

Defying the request of staying together, Jazz went to meet with his creators. Prowl didn’t mind, it gave him a chance to speak with Smokescreen. 

He found Smokescreen with Bluestreak and Nova, high grade already in servo. As he approached, he realized just how overcharged Smokescreen had gotten. 

Once Smokescreen saw Prowl, he abandoned the other two he was talking to and flung his arm around Prowl’s shoulders. 

“Ay, you gon’ get some tonight?” he slurred rather loudly.

Prowl’s face plates heated up. “Smokescreen!”

The Queen was at his side in an instant, already taking the bottle of high grade from him. Bluestreak, however, was long gone by now. A smart move, considering how embarrassing Smokescreen could get when overcharged.

But Smokescreen did mention a valid point. In a few short joors, he’d be placed in a room with Jazz. It was expected of them that they’d bond and interface, according to tradition. 

It’s wasn’t that Prowl was ashamed of his frame, that wasn’t in his culture. It was the fact that he hardly even knew Jazz. 

Sure, Jazz was a kind and attractive mech, but that didn’t make up for the lack of familiarity. He just hoped that Jazz would be understanding towards him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANNOUNCEMENT:  
> Ok so, whenever I start a new fanfiction, I always like to write a few chapters before I publish it so I can make sure I actually like it. So, after I finish this fanfiction, I want to be able to start a new one asap. The only problem is, I can't think of any prompts or aus. So I've put the power into your hands, comment your favorite aus, prompts, tropes, or even ideas.


	11. Lunar Cycle Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Be warned, there is interfacing in this chapter!

Prowl sat on the edge of the berth, taking off his armor. The plating that was already removed laid on the floor next to his pedes. 

The room was still. The only sound heard was the gentle clatter of metal as Prowl laid down a shoulder pad. 

Jazz stood in the doorway of the wash racks. Prowl was sitting with his back turned to him. He could see the anxious flick of his doorwings and the stiffness in his neck. 

Jazz slipped out from his hiding place and made his way to the berth. With his wings, Prowl sensed his presence creeping further. He felt the dip in the berth as Jazz sat down. But it didn’t stop there. Jazz continued to advance towards him. 

He laid a servo on his doorwing. Prowl's optics widened as he tried to control his vents and sat up a bit straighter. He felt Jazz move his servos to each bare shoulder. They were cold against Prowl’s heated frame. 

A sudden warmth was on Prowl’s neck cabling. Jazz gripped his shoulders gently and nibbled the wires. 

Prowl tried to loosen up. He tilted his helm to the side to give Jazz more room. Jazz bit down harder and moved onto his neck. Prowl had to resist the shiver creeping up his back struts. 

He turned to the side and pressed Jazz into the berth. Now hovering over him, he placed his servos to the sides of Jazz’ helm. Jazz watched as he began nipping at his own neck cables. 

When Prowl lifted his helm to switch sides, Jazz saw the look in his optics. He was doing everything in his power to avoid looking into Jazz’ visor. 

“Prowl,” Jazz said quietly. 

Prowl stopped what he was doing and finally looked at Jazz. 

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” said Jazz, making Prowl’s optics narrow in a nonthreatening way. “I know it’s tradition, but we can wait.”

Prowl recalled what Smokescreen had said cycles before, if they didn’t break the ice now, it’d be worse later. 

“No, I want to.” he resumed his position at Jazz’ neck, only to be pushed away. 

“Prowl,” Jazz tried again with a firmer tone. “I know that this is awkward for you.” he paused. The only sound in the room was their cooling fans. Jazz vented and started again, “How about we just interface and wait on the bonding?”

Prowl felt ready to melt with relief. 

He eagerly nodded. Jazz smiled and pulled Prowl back down. This time, Prowl acted with more certainty. He supposed it was the conversation with Smokescreen that caused that. 

He made the right move on speaking to Smokescreen. The mech himself always appeared to be confident and charismatic. After only a few cycles of bonding to Nova, he’d seen him press her against the wall when they thought they were alone, passionately kissing her while his servos wandered. There were times when he’d walked by their quarters in the earlier joors, only to hear a femme screaming in the throes of pleasure. But of course, they were both young and newly bonded, so he couldn’t blame them too much. Seeing at how careless they could be, he was surprised Nova wasn’t sparked yet.

Jazz roped his arms around Prowl’s torso with his clawed servos. Prowl planted a few kisses on his shoulder before moving onto his chassis. 

Jazz arched his back and unclasped his armor from the back. Prowl helped him by yanking the plating off and tossing it to the side. He straddled Jazz’ hips and undid the clasps on his pelvic armor. Jazz sat up so he was parallel to Prowl and placed a few kisses on his faceplates. While doing so, he too removed his partner's pelvic armor. 

Prowl slammed Jazz back onto the berth again. He let out a small moan when their lips made contact. Still maintaining the kiss, Prowl shifted so he was sitting in between Jazz’ legs.   
He broke the kiss and whispered, “If you want me to stop at any time, tell me.”

Jazz nodded feverishly. Both of their cooling fans kicked up a notch as Prowl positioned his hips so they were grinding against Jazz’. He took off his codpiece to reveal his engorged rod. Jazz moaned at the sight. 

Jazz propped himself on his elbows to get a better view. Prowl placed his servo against the base of his rod and inched his hips closer so he was now rubbing against Jazz’ valve. Jazz gave a short whine, urging Prowl to move further. 

Prowl moved to he was now hovering over Jazz instead of sitting. With a servo placed next to Jazz’ frame, he shoved his hips forward. His rod slid in easily. Jazz’ visor was dim as he threw his helm back with a sob of pleasure. 

Prowl’s helm was bowed as he vented heavily. His sensors were practically on fire by now. 

“Are you alright?” he asked Jazz. 

Jazz nodded. 

Prowl rested his weight on his elbows, frame rocking forward. His rod slid in another inch, making Jazz grunt. Slowly but surely, Prowl rolled his hips forward and back. The smaller mech had to bite the side of his servo in a desperate attempt to quiet himself. The larger mech offlined his optics as he set a slow pace with his hips. 

Jazz kept his visor online. He wanted to see Prowl’s facial expressions. Normally, the mech had a face made of stone, as stoic as ever. But now, he could see how his lip plates twitched upwards with every thrust, optics squeezed shut. His doorwings flared out, making him appear much larger than he really was. Jazz supposed it was a thing Praxians did. 

Now, he wasn’t the same mech that Jazz saw earlier today. Now, he was his passionate lover. 

Prowl began to move faster. This new pace pulled more and more moans from Jazz. Prowl’s frame was heaving with every vent. Jazz hugged his frame against his own, clawing at his back and no doubt leaving scratches.

“P-Prowl!” Jazz whined. “I...I think I’m getting close!”

At those words, Prowl picked Jazz up by the hips and thrusted at a new angle. Jazz moans grew louder and louder, sounding more frantic by the second. 

Finally, Jazz was thrown over the edge. 

“Prowl! Oh, Primus!” he all but screamed. 

A fresh wave of lubricants rushed through and spilled out of Jazz’ valve. He gripped Prowl’s frame even tighter and wailed in pleasure.

His cries and moans died down. Prowl placed him back onto the berth and pulled out of Jazz’ valve. 

“You…” Jazz panted. “Didn’t overload.”

Prowl rubbed his chevron. “I didn’t.” he paused briefly to settle himself next to Jazz, as if he was getting ready for recharge. “But it doesn’t matter.”

Jazz frowned at that. 

In an instant, he was straddling Prowl’s waist. He was so quick, Prowl jumped at the intrusion. Jazz planted kisses on his bare frame, starting at the chassis and ending at his lower abdomen. 

“Cover your optics.” Jazz said in a husky tone. 

Prowl bobbed his helm and did as he was told. He felt Jazz’ weight on his pelvis briefly. There was a moment of silence before Prowl felt his rod engulfed in something warm. A small weight was added to the sides of his hips, most likely Jazz’ thighs.

His sensitive wiring came to life as he hissed at the feeling. He could feel his rod become erect once more by the simulation. Whatever was on his rod began to move up and down. Prowl guessed Jazz was straddling him, it was the most logical outcome. 

Reluctantly, he removed his servo to get a look at Jazz.   
Instead of seeing Jazz at optic level with him, he was much lower. Jazz had engulfed Prowl’s rod with his glossa. 

Prowl groaned at the sight. Jazz’ helm bobbed up and down, moaning as he did so. The nodes in his rod lit up every time Jazz moved. 

“Ah, frag.” Prowl moaned. 

He put his knuckle in his glossa to silence himself. Jazz felt Prowl’s servo grip his own. Removing it from Prowl’s hips, he intertwined their digits. Prowl gripped his servo and bit down on his own. Through it all, Prowl could do nothing but hiss and squeeze his optics shut. 

“Jazz,” he gasped. “I’m close!”

Jazz kept going. Prowl arched his back off of the pile of pillows he was leaning on. He cried out as his rod spewed trans fluid. 

After his overload, he panted hard and relaxed against the mound of pillows. He suddenly felt a large weight on his chassis. Onlining his optics, he found Jazz resting his upper half on him. Prowl softly laid his servo on top of Jazz’ helm, rubbing an audial horn while doing so. 

Jazz huffed softly against Prowl’s frame. “Recharge well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still accepting prompts, aus, and ideas. I loved hearing your guys' ideas and would love to hear more!


	12. Tragedy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, this is a pretty emotional chapter with Jazz. You have been warned

When Jazz awoke, he was alone. Instead of laying on Prowl’s warm frame, he was placed on his front, blankets and pillows arranged neatly around him. He felt sluggish.

After pausing for a moment to recollect himself, he heard water running. On the opposite wall, there was a door slightly ajar. The light was on and steam was spilling from the small crack.   
Jazz stood up and advanced towards the door. He stopped in front of it and peeked inside. 

Through the steam, he saw a figure standing underneath a stream of water. He held a sponge in servo, stroking it across his frame and leaving a trail of soap. He rinsed himself off and turned off the water. 

Jazz gasped when he saw Prowl turn around. He whirled around and headed for the berth, trying to act as if he was still in recharge.

When Prowl emerged, he had a towel wrapped around his hips. Droplets of water clung to his frame and slipped into the seams of his protoform. It made his form glisten and shine.

He saw his new ‘mate’ resting how he left him. Jazz was lying diagonally across the berth, helm supported by a stack of pillows.

As he picked up his armor off the floor, he smiled softly at him. Prowl brought his armor to the vanity and deposited it onto the table. Piece by piece, he clamped the plating onto himself. 

Seeing that he was distracted, Jazz onlined his visor and watched Prowl get dressed. Jazz’ optics wandered to the bicep plating that shifted every time he raised an arm, the torso plating that twisted when he moved. He bit his lip as the towel slipped past his waist and landed on the floor. 

“You’re awake.” Prowl said without turning around.

Jazz scrambled into a sitting position. Prowl turned around, this time with all his armor on. 

He approached the berth and sat next to Jazz. Jazz was deathly still as he leaned forward, grasping Jazz’ chin while he did so. Seeing where he was going with this, Jazz kept his optics trained of Prowl’s lip plates. 

The warmth that encapsulated Jazz’ plating took him by surprise. He felt Prowl move his glossa and pinch Jazz’s lower lip with his own.

Prowl was trying to make this work, he really was. Smokescreen had encouraged him to be brave and confident. He supposed that meant to take the initiative and commence the romance between them. He didn’t know Jazz that well, so he could only hope he was enjoying this. 

Jazz pressed his servo to the back of Prowl’s helm and deepened the kiss. He slipped his tongue inside of Prowl’s glossa. Prowl could only interpret this as a sign of Jazz enjoying the romance he provided. 

There was a small creak to their left. The two mechs ignored it and continued their kiss. A loud clash was then heard, causing them to finally look up. 

A small femme was standing in the doorway. At her pedes, was a small tray with broken glass and spilt energon scattered around. 

“Oh my! T-terribly sorry!” she squealed, systems heating in embarrassment. 

Before she could do anything, Jazz held up his servo. “Leave it.”

The servant reluctantly bowed and left without another word.   
As soon as the door closed, Jazz flung his arms around Prowl’s neck and laid on his back. He coaxed Prowl’s helm into the crook of his neck. Prowl instantly got to work and began teething on Jazz’ neck and shoulder. 

The fronts of their frames rubbed together. Jazz hooked his pedes around Prowl’s waist, dragging him all the more closer. 

They switched roles. Jazz was now the one nipping at his partner's neck. While Prowl was able to draw out a few moans from his lover, Jazz found himself unable to do so. 

Onlining his visor, he saw Prowl looking at something. Upon closer inspection, he saw his wings twitching and fluttering. 

“Is everything alright, Prowl?” he asked. 

Prowl was silent for a moment. “The mess,” he began. “Is bothering me.”

* * *

Jazz saw Prowl standing at the window as the shuttle took off. His family was inside.

He knew that this would be hard for him. He was officially leaving Praxus behind. 

A frown tugged at Jazz’ faceplates as he stepped forward and laid a servo on Prowl’s back. He was motionless against Jazz’ touch. Jazz just wished he could comfort his new mate. The regret of not bonding when he had the chance was beginning to creep in. 

“You know,” he began quietly. “Now that we’re Kings, my creators are taking a bit of a vacation.” He offered Prowl a smile. “We’ll have the kingdom to ourselves.”

Prowl stood up straight. His stoic expression pushed all other emotion out of the way.

“Sounds lovely.” he replied, voice flat. 

A few decacycles ago, Jazz would have been impressed by Prowl’s ability to maintain his composure. But now, Jazz hated it. It blocked him from the Prowl he wanted to know, his goal. Jazz didn’t want to talk to this wall that Prowl had put up. He wanted to see the mech Prowl presented to him the lunar cycle after their bonding ceremony.

* * *

Earlier that cycle, Jazz and Prowl had said their farewells to Jazz’ creators. The two of them were taking a trip around Cybertron. Apparently, while they were King and Queen, they missed the opportunity to see other places and explore Cybertron. Now that they weren’t tied down to Iacon, they wanted to experience other cultures. 

They promised Jazz to contact him once they reached Polyhex, their first destination. Now, Jazz was waiting by his communicator, anxiously waiting for them to call. Prowl waited with Jazz. He calmly sat in a chair on the other side of the room reading a data pad. 

The sun was beginning to go down and worry started to creep in. Jazz was pacing around their quarters. He was starting to wish he had the stone face Prowl did. 

A servant arrived at the door and presented them with their evening energon. Prowl gratefully drank his in a few gulps. Yet Jazz couldn’t bring himself to take more than a few sips.

“I’m sure they were just delayed.” Prowl stated. “Weather can be unpredictable at times.”

Jazz nodded. He wanted to believe Prowl, he really did, but a nagging sensation told him otherwise. 

Soon the sun had set and Prowl urged Jazz to recharge with him. Reluctantly, Jazz agreed.

As he settled in, Prowl threw an arm around his shoulders in a comforting manner. Jazz leaned into Prowl’s comforting warmth and activated his recharge protocols. 

A mere three joors later, they were awakened. 

A frenzied servant came barging through the door, completely unannounced. At first, the Kings had a look of revulsion and skepticism. But when they saw his expression, they grew to be more forgiving. 

“My Kings,” the servant finally delivered a bow. “Your presence in the control room is required.”

Not requested, required. Prowl couldn’t help but note that. Jazz shot Prowl a panicked look. Prowl quickly quieted it by squeezing his mate’s servo. 

Once they were ready, the servant led them through the hallways. The servant tried to explain the situation to them, but could only utter words like, “tragedy” and “crisis”.

When they arrived, they were shown a map the size of the wall. On it were small red dots, some moving, some still. Other servants and workers were running about, more frantic than usual. 

“It appears,” an employee stated quietly. “That the ship the King and Queen were in has vanished.”

Prowl saw Jazz’ optics widen. Jazz took three steps back, helm directed at the green map. Prowl reached out to him, grasping his wrist and preventing him from going anywhere. Jazz tried to yank himself away. At first, the motion was rough and strained. But it slowly died down until he was a crumpled mess in Prowl’s embrace. 

Prowl forced him to stand. A quick glance made the servants around them stop staring and resume their normal activities. He led him out of the control room and through the hallway.

When they were halfway to their quarters, Jazz collapsed onto his knees. Prowl, however, said nothing and carried him the rest of the way. 

Jazz had already buried his helm into Prowl’s chassis to hide his tears. Prowl sat him on the berth and kneeled down in front of him. Seeing the tears trickle down the sides of Jazz’ visor, he put a digit to the glass as if he was going to take it off. When Jazz didn’t stop him from doing so, he gently pulled down. With a small ‘shink’ the visor was off.

Prowl’s optics grew wide. He could finally understand why Jazz wore the visor.

It wasn’t some fashion trend, he actually needed it.

Under the visor, was a pair of cracked optics. Small shards of glass were missing and the ones still there, were broken. Instead of being brightly lit, these were dim to the point of being almost black. 

He wiped the coolant tears from his face. Jazz shuttered his optics and straightened his back so he was now pressed against Prowl.

“Oh, Jazz,” Prowl whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all that have been reading, leaving kudos, and commenting, it really makes all this worth while. Also, another thing, remember Smokescreen and Nova (Nova is my oc btw and I ship her with Smokey so I couldn't possibly leave her out)? I was wondering if you guys would want to see a chapter with just them. It'd basically be a conversation between the two, talking about Jazz and Prowl's relationship. I thought it might give some insight on other arranged bonds. Let me know in the comments if I should write it. I'm posting thus chapter a bit early so I can hear your guys' thoughts.


	13. Smokescreen and Nova

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, Smokescreen and Nova share their romance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Part of this is based off of a scene from Game of Thrones.

Smokescreen stood on the edge of the balcony and sipped from his evening cube of high grade. His cape caught the breeze and flowed behind him. The balcony overlooked the front of his kingdom. Lights were beginning to turn on for the citizens who worked late into the lunar cycle. It was a beautiful sight that made him happy to be King.

Behind him, he heard the gentle clack of pedes. It was no doubt his mate. She had always been one to make quiet entrances. 

Always. 

He turned around slowly to present himself to her. She stood in the doorway and clutched the wall. 

“I assume you’ve heard.” she started quietly. 

“I have.”

The Queen released her hold on the doorframe and retreated further into the berth room. Smokescreen took a few steps forward, standing just out of view from Nova.

“I’ve sent them my condolences and I plan on speaking with Prowl tomorrow.” he said rather loudly so she could still hear him. 

There was a pause before she replied, “It’s such a tragedy, and for it to happen now, of all times.”

He nodded. “I’m sure Prowl’s panicking by now. It’s hard to woo someone when they’re in mourning.”

Nova took his words into consideration. It reminded her of when Smokescreen was trying to win her spark. Only he had to do it in secret. It was unethical for royals to have any romantic relationships until they were of courting age. However, her and Smokescreen threw that rule out the window and found love and passion within each other. 

“Smokescreen,” she called from where she lied on the berth. “How did you seduce me?”

“Seduce you? I’d hardly call it seduction.”

“Entice me, captivate me, trap me,” she began listing alternatives. “Whatever you want to call it. How did you do it?”

Smokescreen narrowed his optics in thought. “I suppose that’s a question for you,” he concluded. “What about me enthralled you?”

Nova rolled her helm to the side lazily. “You were so poetic with your words,” she whispered. 

Smokescreen smiled wistfully at the memory of sending her love letters. There was a time where their creators met for a meeting at Polyhex, the place she hailed from. It wasn’t their first time meeting, but it sure felt like it. It was the first time, they'd acted romantically towards each other. 

He remembered Nova sending her servants to his quarters to deliver verbal messages. He’d whisper to her through the crack of the door every time he passed her berthroom. 

Their romance was one many royals dreamed of having. That thought made them sick to their tanks. It made them realize how lucky they were. Smokescreen and Nova were able to rig their games so Nova would win. Others weren’t so fortunate. Other royals were told who to love, forced to throw away their emotions for another simply because of political circumstances. 

“You spoke so philosophically.” she continued. “Even after you left, I remembered what you said. To this cycle, I still do.”

Smokescreen left the balcony and came inside. As he was entering, he closed the curtains with the swipe of a servo. The light from the outside was gone, all that was left was a dim lamp.

“What did I say?” Smokescreen vented as he continued to approach his mate.

“You told me about how the world we see around us, might all be fake, a dream” Smokescreen was sitting on the berth now. 

Nova sat up with him and continued, “To this cycle, I still wonder if this is all a dream.”

Smokescreen laid a servo on her shoulder. “Is it a good dream?”

“The best.”

Their face plates were almost touching now. She placed a servo on his shoulder and tapped her digits against the metal.

“What do you think, Smokescreen?” Nova asked. “Is this all a dream?”

“If it is,” he leaned his helm forward and touched their chevrons together, the heat from their mate making them relax. “I’ll kill the mech who wakes me from it.”


	14. Yes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl is faced with a daunting question.

Prowl watched his mate recharge. These cycles, it was a rarity to see him do so. Most of the time he lied awake for joors on end. On those lunar cycles, Prowl would have to coax him into recharge, a difficult and menial task. 

Jazz rarely went places these days. He stayed in his quarters most of the time. He and Prowl received many invitations to social events, all regarding the offlining of his creators. 

Every time, Prowl would look to Jazz, optics asking, “Should we go?”

Jazz would shake his helm, putting an end to the discussion.

Prowl didn’t know what to do at this point. He’d known Jazz to be the rambunctious one, the one who was always happy. Prowl wasn’t disappointed in Jazz, no not at all. If anything, he felt pity towards him.

Jazz surprised Prowl in a number of cases. Prowl had only felt pity once before. That one event was something he never wanted to relive. How did Jazz make him feel an emotion so extreme, only the false offlining of his brother could make him feel it?

Then there was his ability for self-expression. Unlike Prowl, Jazz set time aside to mourn. And instead of putting on a straight face, Jazz had no shame in displaying his sorrows.   
He was a mystery to Prowl at this point. 

Jazz stirred, making Prowl online his optics. Prowl was typically one who recharged lightly. He felt a dip in the berth, closer to him. 

“Prowl,” Jazz whispered. “Are you online?”

Prowl turned his torso so he was now facing Jazz. He saw the dull radiance of his visor, making his face plates glow. 

“Yes.” he stated simply. 

“I wanted to ask you something.” he said. 

Prowl moved so he was laying on his side, entire frame facing Jazz. “What?”

“Why did you want to win?” he asked. 

Prowl’s optics expanded before narrowing. He diverted his optics from Jazz’ visor and sobered up mentally. 

“Iacon is close to Praxus, yes?” Prowl asked. When Jazz nodded, he continued, “I didn’t want to leave Praxus. Smokescreen and I were evaluating my options, and we realized that Iacon is one of the closest city-states to Iacon.”

Jazz’ visor dimmed significantly. “When I asked you if you’d miss Praxus, you said no.”

“I said that I was leaving it in capable servos.” Prowl corrected gently. 

“So you do miss your home?”

“Sometimes.” Prowl nodded in agreement.

Jazz shifted so he was closer to Prowl, now leaning into his chassis. Prowl found himself more susceptible to Jazz’ closeness. He learned not to tense and where to touch. Prowl wasn’t aware, but Jazz appreciated how much he was trying.

Jazz’ digits wandered to Prowl’s chassis plating. He traced the outline of his scars, noting the bumps and ripples. 

“Where did all these come from?” he asked. 

“My scars?” Prowl asked. Jazz nodded in reply. “They’ve accumulated over time.”

“But how?” Jazz persisted. “Praxians aren’t warriors, right?”

“Most aren’t, but my brothers and I are.” 

“Why?”

Prowl tilted his helm upward so he was no longer looking at Jazz. At his blank expression, Jazz suddenly regretted asking. 

“Like you said, Praxians are not warriors. If someone was to attack us, we wouldn’t be able to defend ourselves.” Prowl said. 

“So you became a warrior to defend your people?”

“Yes.”

Jazz was silent. Prowl took this chance to settle into the berth and activate his recharge protocols. Just as he felt his systems shutting down, he heard Jazz speak again. 

“Hey Prowl,” he said. 

“Yes, Jazz?” he answered, trying to keep the tiredness out of his voice. 

“Do you love me?”

The question hit like a ton of bricks. Prowl’s optics were burning brighter than ever. His wings flared up behind him. Luckily, the room was dark so Jazz didn’t see it.

Prowl had to go deep into his processors for this one. He began calculating, taking past events into account. Jazz watched his expressions change and shift until he came to a conclusion.

His answer was spoken softly. His lip plates tight and thin as he hissed his reply. 

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short, but I feel like it sets up the mood for what is to come.


	15. Shot

It took a significant amount of convincing on Prowl’s part. Jazz had denied even looking at the invitation until Prowl insisted. In the end, Prowl practically bribed Jazz with affection to go.

The day of the event, servants arrived at their quarters early in the morning to help them get ready. The two Kings were presented with bulky armor and long capes. After they were dressed, servants and knights escorted them to a jet. 

Jazz and Prowl were led to a small private cabin. It had a small table and two booth-like seats. The Kings sat parallel from each other as the jet took off. 

Once they were in the air, Prowl started, “Are you nervous?”

Jazz tore his optics away and met Prowl’s. “Not really.”

Prowl reached over to grasp Jazz’ servo. This time, it was Jazz who forced himself not to tense. 

“Are you sure?”

Jazz was flattered by Prowl’s attempts to make him feel safer. His visor got bright as his face plated got hot. He tried to force himself to not shy away from the mech in front of him, but found it to be increasingly difficult.

“I’m sure.” he finally answered.

* * *

Jazz and Prowl were talking with Smokescreen and Nova, the ones who put on this gala. There was no spoken purpose for the gathering, but everyone knew it was in honor of the fallen King and Queen. No one said, but they were all thinking it. 

Because of this unspoken theme, Kings, Queens, Princes, Pricesses, Dukes, and Duchesses had arrived. However, no one dared to speak to the Kings of Iacon about it. It could’ve been common sense. Or it could’ve been Prowl shooting death glares at anyone who came too close.

The four of them sipped from their high grade, enjoying a good laugh. Jazz looked to Prowl, relishing in the fact that he was actually smiling.

“Run!” a hoarse voice screeched from afar. 

Following the voice was a loud bang. The walls of the palace shook with the screams and crashes of the guests as they ran from the source of the noise. 

Both Smokescreen and Prowl leaped into action and shielded their mates with their frames. Smokescreen grasped Nova’s frame to his own and led her away from the crowds. He shot a glance to Prowl, suggesting he do the same. 

Jazz clung to Prowl’s chassis, craning his helm so he could see what was going on. He heard screams, but never saw the one causing it all.

Prowl backed up slowly with Jazz still in his arms. His optics began scanning the crowd. He saw guards rushing to the center of the ballroom, but saw no attacker. 

Another loud bang ensued. Prowl found himself crumpling onto the floor, but he didn't know why. He felt his doorwings flare in pain, meaning he was on his back. 

In slow motion, he saw Jazz stoop down to his level. His faceplates were contorted with some sort of agony. Prowl prayed that he wasn’t hurt. 

His audios were ringing, vision slowly going blurry. He could feel a numbness creeping through his frame.

Prowl shifted his helm to the side. His optics directed themselves to Jazz’ face plates. 

Prowl weakly looked to the side and saw his arm laying in a puddle of energon. Jazz gripped his servo in his own, bowing his helm and sobbing into Prowl’s wrist. Prowl saw how his wrist was covered in streams of energon, the pink liquid now on Jazz digits as well. 

He’d been shot.

* * *

Prowl saw Jazz when he onlined. He was sitting at the side of his berth, holding his servo in a way so his entire arm was in his lap. 

Jazz watched intently as his optics flickered to life, tiny components spinning and shifting to help his focus. His digits weakly curled around Jazz’ to hold his servo better. 

Prowl was immediately aware of the burning in his shoulder. He shifted away from the pain, hissing in pain and beginning to struggle against himself. 

Jazz laid a servo on his opposite shoulder to hold him down. “Prowl, it’s okay.” he soothed. 

Prowl calmed down significantly. His spare servo flew to the throbbing agony on his shoulder.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Jazz said sympathetically. Prowl nodded his helm desperately, “The medics couldn’t give you painkillers. They thought it might put you in a permanent stasis.”

Prowl nodded again, much calmer this time. He rested back onto his mound of pillows. 

Jazz watched his movements carefully, noting the rising and falling of his chassis as he tried to vent through the pain. He shifted so he was leaning his side against the berth.

Jazz reached for the nightstand and pulled a wet cloth from a bowl of water. He wrung it out and dabbed it on Prowl’s chassis plating. Prowl lazily onlined his optics and saw what he was doing. He gave a small nod in appreciation, it felt marvelous against his overheating frame. 

Prowl reached his free servo to Jazz’ and guided the towel to his neck. Jazz smiled and started blotting his face as well. Prowl sighed and relaxed his muscle cords.

“Jazz,” Prowl croaked weakly. “What happened?”

Jazz continued stroking his face plates before finally speaking, “You were shot at the ball.”

Prowl listened to the trickle of water as Jazz wrung the rag out again. “I’m sorry.” he apologized, voice still gravelly. 

Jazz’ optics furrowed underneath his visor. “For what?”

“What you saw.”

“Don’t be sorry. It wasn’t your fault.” 

“Who was it?” he asked. “Who shot me?”

Jazz smudged the towel over Prowl’s chassis. “It was a paid assassin. No one knows who paid him though.”

Prowl grasped Jazz’ servo in his own, making him drop the towel. He placed it on his cheek and kissed his palm. Jazz allowed a small smile to creep across his face plates. 

In the clearest voice he could muster, Prowl whispered, “Bond with me.”

The smile vanished. “W-what?” he stuttered. 

“I want you to bond with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will probably be one more chapter after this one. Tell me what you think!


	16. Love

“I’m not sure how much I can move with my wounded shoulder,” Prowl warned from where he laid on their berth. 

“It’s fine.” Jazz assured. 

He positioned himself so he was straddling Prowl’s hips. Prowl snaked his arms around his torso as Jazz bent down so he was lying on his chassis. 

“The medics gave you painkillers so you should be okay,” he placed a quick kiss on Prowl’s lip plates. “But if it gets to be too much, tell me.”

Prowl nodded. Jazz continued to kiss Prowl, this time taking up a dominant role, seeing how Prowl wasn’t as physically apt as usual. 

Their servos wandered their partner's naked frame, digits wriggling into crevices and seams. They’d occasionally pinch a bundle of wires, or palm at the metal plating. 

Jazz broke the kiss and moved his glossa to the middle seam of Prowl’s chassis. He removed himself and sat up straight, towering over Prowl's frame. 

Before Prowl could do anything, Jazz’s chassis split open. A blue light lit up the dark room. Inside of his spark chamber was a glowing orb, humming soundly. 

Jazz watched as Prowl’s face plates lit up with wonder. He sat up and pressed an open glossa kiss around the edge of his spark chamber. A breathy moan was dragged from him, causing Prowl to hum in approval.

Without flinching, Prowl’s chassis plates folded apart. A darker blue filled the room. Jazz’ glossa fell slightly agape at the intensity. 

Prowl tapped the bottom of Jazz’ visor with the tip of his digit. “Take it off.”

“Are you sure?”

Prowl nodded. 

Jazz’ digits lingered on the rim. Venting, in he yanked it off and tossed it to the side. There was a small clank as it hit the ground and the two mechs moved forward. Prowl looked directly into Jazz’ cracked optics, not caring that they were damaged.

They intertwined their servos and shifted even closer, sparks now inches away. Prowl pulled Jazz in for a searing kiss while continuing to advance. 

Jazz scooted closer to Prowl’s chassis, finally making contact. Jazz moaned into the kiss, while Prowl hummed contently. Their sparks swirled together, accepting one another. 

The two Kings titled their helms to deepen the kiss. They broke their hold on each other's servos and placed them around each other’s frame. 

When the bond was completed, both mechs were nearly offline by the intensity. 

In that instant, they could finally feel each other. Their emotions were now displayed to their mate. All of their memories could be accessible by their other half. 

The kiss broke with a round of pants. Jazz dipped his helm against his chassis, glossa agape to help him gasp for air. Prowl’s helm remained upwards, gawking at Jazz in all his flustered glory. 

“Are you alright?” Prowl asked his new bond mate. 

Jazz nodded. He roped Prowl into another kiss, gentler this time. Prowl leaned back onto the pile of pillows, his wounded shoulder thanking him. 

Jazz wiggled his hips into position. Prowl clutched Jazz’ torso and began to massage his sensitive protoform plates. 

Reaching down with his servo, Jazz detached Prowl’s codpiece, officially leaving him with no armor. As soon as he did that, his long rod rubbed against Jazz’ thigh. He moaned at the contact. 

His hips bucked forward so he was now hovering over Prowl’s rod. His thighs lowered so the tip was now in the folds of his valve. Prowl bit his knuckle and hissed as Jazz continued to lower himself. 

Once he was all the way inside, Jazz threw his helm backward and drew himself off. The motion was repeated, every time Jazz would whine as his sensors were lit on fire. Prowl, however, was much better at keeping his composure. While Jazz was groaning loudly, all he did was pant. 

Jazz began to move himself faster. He rolled his hips with every motion, trying to hit the untouched sensors. Prowl grasped his waist as he thrusted himself upon his rod. 

Prowl was overcome by the sight of his mate. Jazz' frame was stretched backwards, a slight bend in his spinal strut. He could see the curvature of his abdominal plating and how they expanded with his every move. 

The bond was wide open during this. Their emotions and pleasure bleeding through. They could feel their partner's bliss as if it was their own.

Prowl tightened his grip on his mate’s hips. With a roguish smirk, he picked Jazz up and slammed him back down. Jazz sobbed in ecstasy as the nodes sprouted to life. He planted his palms firmly on the berth to give him more leverage. His hips slamming down faster and harder. 

There was a tenseness growing in their lower abdomen, the first signs of an impending overload. They knew their lover was feeling it as well. Most bonded couples had the capacity to overload at the same time. 

“Prowl, I’m getting close!” Jazz cried.

Prowl panted harshly and gripped Jazz’ hips once more. Knowing what was coming, Jazz started pounding harder to aid Prowl. White servos brought Jazz up and slammed him back down. 

Jazz threw his helm back and wailed in pleasure, unable to move. Prowl arched his back off the berth and did the same, but much quieter. 

“Oh Prowl!” Jazz keened. 

Their frames became searingly hot. Prowl schrunched his optics shut and gritted his denta. Jazz threw his glossa open and sobbed loudly. 

Slowly but surely, they came down from the overload. Jazz pulled himself off of Prowl’s rod. They both hissed, everything still sensitive from interfacing.

Jazz flopped down next to Prowl. Prowl lifted his arm to allow Jazz a place to lay his helm. Humming in contentment, Jazz cuddled up to Prowl’s side. Occasionally, one would reach for the other to share a lazy kiss.

“That was good.” he sighed. 

Prowl agreed silently. 

They remained quiet for a moment. Occasionally, Jazz would send Prowl gentle nudges through their bond. He would respond with softness and love. 

Jazz shifted upwards and brought their helms upwards. Prowl offlined his optics and enjoyed the warmth against his chevron. His optics furrowed with the emotion he felt, a rare occurrence for Prowl.

“Do you actually mean it?” Jazz asked, referring to the love Prowl presented him with. 

Prowl’s side of the bond grew warmer and more inviting. “Of course.”

Jazz said with playful undertones, “Prove it.”

Prowl pulled away to allow Jazz to see his expression. He pushed his passion to Jazz so he could feel everything that he was feeling. While maintaining perfect optic contact, Prowl whispered,

“I love you.”

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading, especially to the people who comment their thoughts! I always love to hear what my audience thinks of my stories. 
> 
> But there are two questions that have arisen. 1. When exactly did Prowl fall in love with Jazz? and 2. Who was the assassin?
> 
> Well, I'd like to invite you all to ponder this and comment your thoughts. If there is a demand for it, I will make a brief statement explaining it all. I've dropped subtle hints throughout the story that points to the answers. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, I'd love to hear your thoughts!


	17. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short, but tied together some loose ends.

“So he didn’t mean to hit me?” Prowl plopped down in the chair parallel to Jazz, a bit clumsier than normal.

“No, it was aimed at me,” he said. “but seeing as how my helm is at your shoulder,” Jazz trailed off, leaving Prowl to decipher the rest of the sentence.

“Who hired him?” Prowl rested his elbow on the side of his chair, glancing down the center of the table to better see his mate.

Jazz shifted in his chair, “That’s the thing,” he said. “it was Crystal City’s royal family.”

Prowl lifted his helm, optics widening slightly. “Crystal City?” he vented. “Is...is it because the Prince didn’t win.”

“Not exactly. Iacon hasn’t always been on the best terms with them.”

“And your creators?”

Prowl watched as Jazz’ optics softened. Now that they were bonded, Jazz rarely wore his visor around Prowl. He wanted Prowl to be able to not only feel his expressions but see them too, even if his vision was slightly impaired.

“We have reason to believe that Crystal City royals also caused the ship’s disappearance.” he finally stated quietly.

Prowl stared at Jazz. He poked him through the bond, trying to wring out any more information.

“This won’t start a war, will it?” Jazz finally whispered, just loud enough for Prowl to hear. 

“Possible, but not likely. It'd be stupid to start one.”

“Good.”

Prowl hoisted himself out of the chair. Jazz watched his mate attentively as he rounded the table and finally knelt down in front of him. 

“I still have one question, Jazz. Your optics,” he said. “What happened?”

For a brief moment, Jazz had to look away. But Prowl had a right to know. They were mates, they were bonded. 

“Poly Hex.” he stated. “My creators and I had come for a short party. Someone pulled a gun and it all went to Pit.”

Prowl nodded. He stood up to his full height. Jazz felt a hard snap in his spark, signaling that Prowl had shut their bond.

“I’m assuming that Crystal City had something to do with this.” he said, not daring to look Jazz in the optics. 

“It was never confirmed, but still highly plausible.”

With those words, Prowl turned on his heel and stalked towards the door. Jazz gripped the arms of his chair and scooted towards the edge. 

“Where are you going?” he called. 

Prowl stopped in his tracks but didn’t dare to look at Jazz. “To declare war.”

Jazz scrambled to get his visor on. “W-what?” he shot out of his chair.

Prowl continued to walk, Jazz already hot on his trail. He’d seen how Prowl could get when he was angry. 

He knew Prowl, and he wasn’t about to go to war on behalf of his optics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading. Expect a new Jazz and Prowl story within the next few days, I just need to edit the first chapter. 
> 
> I also want to write a short little one-shot (like 1000 words). It'd be set in a verse where Smokescreen dies and Prowl and Bluestreak are left to mourn. As a way of coping, Bluestreak changes his paint job, just to take his mind off of things. If anyone has any ideas, I'd love to hear them. 
> 
> Thank you all so much!


End file.
